


The Drink (And The Aftermath)

by thepeskyunicorn



Series: THB fanwork week [4]
Category: History Boys (2006)
Genre: Implied Sexual Content, M/M, scripps suffers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-24
Updated: 2015-09-24
Packaged: 2018-04-23 03:57:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4862180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thepeskyunicorn/pseuds/thepeskyunicorn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wherein Scripps has to listen while the two lovebirds bang</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Drink (And The Aftermath)

**Author's Note:**

> THB fanwork week - Day 4

“Oh, fuck yes, right there.”

Scripps huffed in exasperation and turns over, dragging his pillow over his ears.

Four hours ago, Dakin had informed Scripps that he is finally making good on his word and “cashing in on that drink’ with Irwin. Scripps, after being on the receiving end to countless of moanings about Dakin’s huge crush, felt only relief and slight trepidation. The fervent look of determination in his eyes were more of a concern. After all, what Dakin wants, Dakin gets. Sometimes, with a little extra on the side.

This little extra on the side soon turns out to be two extremely drunk, extremely randy men having at it in the next room. Rooms with horribly thin walls.

Fucking Dakin, Scripps gumped. Fuck him and his bloody libido. And screw Irwin too, to a slightly lesser extent. Metaphorically.

Someone gave a loud moan (it sounded horrifically like Dakin) and the sound of headboard banging against the wall filled his bedroom. Scripps sighed and closed his eyes. It was turning out to be a long night.

 

*

Scripps woke with drool pooling on his collar and a copy of Jane Eyre covering his face. He sits up from where he was slumped on the bed and winces at his crick in his neck and the sore muscles. At least the horrific noises had stopped.

He turned over to replace the book at his bedside table to take a look at the clock, groaning at the stretch. The illuminated numbers informs him that it is four in the morning. Fucking bastard, he thinks viciously, making a mental note to find a hatchet and chop off Dakin’s dick in the morning. He could have at least rented one of those cheap motel rooms he is so fond of.

Satisfied that he would at least still be able to catch a few hours of sleep in peace, Scripps pull his now wet shirt over his head, turn the pillow over to the cool side and throws his hand over his eyes, mentally preparing for the inevitable fatigue tomorrow. 

“Oh God, yes. Unf, yes, yes, don’t stop.”

Scripps eyes flew open.

Fucking hell, he thought miserably. Here comes round two.


End file.
